


Battle Scars

by ChewiesGirl (madametango)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Love/Hate, Self-Denial, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-27 23:20:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madametango/pseuds/ChewiesGirl
Summary: This contains spoilers for Thor Ragnarok Please don't read it if you haven't seen the movie.She is fire. He is ice they are damaged. But are they too damaged?Renamed - previously Licking Wounds





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This contains major spoilers for Thor Ragnarok - please don't read it if you haven't seen the movie.  
> I don't know where it came from but I couldn't stop it.  
> I'm hoping it's a one-shot because I have so much else to write.

SHE was broken.  
She had been destroyed.  
She wandered aimlessly.  
She drank too much and fought too hard.  
And now she was a sword for hire.  
Hela did it - ruined her life.br /> But that was thousands of years ago – when do you stop and take accountability for your own life your own actions?  
Not until you get revenge! - But then what?

He was broken.  
He had been destroyed.  
He wandered causing havoc and mayhem.  
He had been angry.  
Lost and alone in the world and he’d sought to destroy, to take and to rule.  
Odin did it.  
But that was a while back now – be careful what you wish for – it will come back to bite you.  
And all he really wanted was acceptance - could he have it now?  


Valkyrie admired the big man - the God of Thunder - Thor. She admired him a lot, but he was the ruler, the leader. And she was no consort.  
She was her own woman. A woman broken and lost for so long, a woman who could only ever let herself be loved by another broken creature, even if she didn’t admit it to herself.  
And there was Loki - there had been a spark from the moment they had met.  
He was beautiful and oh so beautifully damaged.  
They shared a home planet.  
But he was royalty and she shouldn’t, but his royal status was only one of the reasons why she shouldn’t.  
She was a Valkyrie.  
Honorable and brave.  
Well, she had been back in the years before Hela - his sister - had stripped her of that – of everything, her honour, her bravery, her friends and damned near her life.  
She couldn’t in any realm, in any way have feelings for that bitch’s younger brother and yet there had been a spark.  
Right from the beginning.  
There had been a spark.  
And by god, it wasn’t love at first sight. He wasn’t capable of such things and neither was she. No, she wasn’t capable of love.  
But lust………  
Yes, lust was another story. She had felt it, lived it. Wanted him from the moment they fought, the moment they cross swords.  
And so, now here she was outside the door to his cabin on the ship that was serving as the new Asgard, their new home.  
She was a bloody idiot. She knew he wouldn’t want her. How could he?  
He was broken.  
And she was an alcoholic.  
She knocked.  
It was loud and echoed through the empty corridors of the ship. A ship not built to house so many, so permanently until they could land. Reach home – their new home on Midgard. A place he knew but she didn’t, she couldn’t, she’d scoured the universe plundering and taking but she’d never been there.  
There was no answer to her first knock.  
She unsheathed her dagger.  
Knocked again.  
This was madness.  
He wouldn’t want her.  
How could he?  
He was a prince.  
And she was a drunk.  
There was no answer but the door, grey and heavy, slid, just a little, just enough. She went into fighting stance and waited. Dagger forward, eyes flashing, ears trained to pick up any movement.  
She knew.  
Sensed.  
And then heard.  
“Round two dear Valkyrie?” it purred in her ear.  
She moved then, cat-like. Reflexes so quick they were almost a blur.  
He’d made a mistake and he knew it. He should have used magic, power and yet he didn’t.  
Loki, second prince of Asgard – now a ship hurtling through space. Loki, a man still coming to terms with his life, deaths and the deaths of his parents.  
Because they were his parents.  
Words Odin had uttered had healed more than he would let on.  
He wanted to belong and he kind of did. But only to an extent, it would only ever be to “an extent”  
He’d made mistakes in his life.  
And now he’d made another one.  
He was quick, tricky and a great mage when his mind was on the job. But he’d made a rookie mistake the easiest and worst. He’d underestimated his opponent and now found himself backed up against the hard steel of the wall with the hard steel of the Valkyrie’s dagger pressed heavy to his neck.  
He had been out maneuvered.  
But he didn’t care.  
A grin spread across his chiseled face.  
This cat had got the cream.  
“You have me at your mercy -what will you do with me now?” he purred arrogantly, confidently. He should be nervous. But he remembered their fight, remembered being bested by her. And being thrown over her shoulder and taken to her room. Trussed in chains. That had been a promising start and he could only hope for that again.  
Because this was a great warrior.  
She was the best that Asgard had left and probably the best they’d had before.  
And she had him backed against a wall.  
In this position most would taste steel but not Loki, not the broken, rebuilding god of mischief - instead, he tasted her lips, her tongue as hard as steel breaking through his defenses and seeking entry.  
No this wasn’t love.  
They both knew it.  
This was something else.  
Something primal.  
One day she may love Thor.  
One day she may be his co-leader.  
But right now, in that moment, in that corridor – she wanted Loki.  
Seeing him trussed up like a chicken in her room had been tantalizing, the appetizer and now she wanted the main course and by the gods (of Mischief in this case) she was going to have him.  
She sheathed her dagger and her arms went around his neck, her legs around his trim waist.  
“Bed!”  
It was a whisper.  
But it was a command too.  
And he wasn’t going to disobey it.  
Disobey her.  
Though that may be fun.  
Later.  
For the moment, he wanted to continue their jousting from Sakaar, but he had a much more useful weapon this time, a much more pleasurable one too.  
He walked them backward through his door as she devoured him. Only a determined flick of his wrist closed the door behind them, on what they wanted, NEEDED to do.  
For just a few hours they needed to scream, to impale, to bite and fight but all in the name of lust, not war. They needed a battle and Loki didn’t care if he was the winner or she, if she leads the charge or he.  
She slid down his legs, planting her feet on the ground as he backed so far into the room that the backs of his legs hit his bunk. She chuckled then.  
“I have you where I want you God of Mischief,” she murmured menacingly.  
But he chuckled.  
And not from in front of her but behind.  
She turned to find the real man smirking menacingly at her as his doppelganger – more solid than she believed him capable of conjuring – dissolved away.  
The real man had been watching the show.  
But not for long. No not for long.  
She stalked him. Like the prey that he was, and he moved liked the cat that HE was. Moving around each other like wild animals, both going in for the kill, eyes trained on each other, never leaving, never breaking until they were close enough for her to grab him and pull him roughly to her.  
“Don’t waste time,” she growled, and he wasn’t about to. Kissing her, hard and intensely, claiming, battling. While before was nice, now was………now was rough, brutal and competitive, like it was a contest to win, their tongues jousting as she pushed hard against the wall. And by god, he was hard against that wall, and against her thigh, hard and probably highly uncomfortable in tight leather.  
“Do you want me as a man or a woman?” he asked breathlessly when she finally let his mouth go. She smiled – “I am partial to both”.  
“I am capable of both!” he boasted, and her eyebrow arched in appreciation.  
“We can try that later, but for now I want what I can see, no lies, no magic,” she said rubbing her hand on the strained leather, “no augmentation” she whispered, and he laughed waving a hand and dispensing with their armour, clothes, and undergarments in one fell swoop.  
“Impressive,” she said ambiguously, leaving him wondering whether she meant his magic or cock or perhaps both. She walked around him then, completely unfazed by her own nakedness, admiring him from all angles like he was a marble statue in the Queen’s garden back on Asgard. With his alabaster skin and toned muscles, he reminded her of just that, not that she’d been inside the garden since before his birth – a young Valkyrie then on a visit to Frigga. Frigga the great warrior turned queen always more than Odin’s consort. And here she stood now with the great Frigga’s son not by birth certainly not given his impressive proportions in the right areas – no there was more Frost Giant to this boy, man, then immediately evident. No his manner, demeanor and keen mind gave him away, he was definitely more Frigga’s son than even Thor. Maybe that’s what drew her. She didn’t know, but fighting him had been exhilarating and he’d been more of a challenge than Thor- the intelligent ones always were. But brains and arrogance were also often a smart man’s downfall in battle. And they were in battle now – one on one – hand to hand, intimately. But evenly matched yes, she could see that much.  
She nodded as she circled him.  
He was tall and far more muscular than she’d expected despite his clothes seemingly fitting him like a glove. What she thought was armour and padding was all him.  
And he oozed sex.  
Upright and ready in the dim light of his small cabin. A cabin which she was sure held an interdimensional pocket where he’d no-doubt stashed whatever he had used to catch up with, and board, this ship. Another time she would shake him down for it. But not now, now her need was different, and it was great.  
And if she wasn’t mistaken, so was his.  
He looked at her with the same hunger.  
The same distrust.  
The same lust.  
They stalked again.  
Like big cats.  
Until he made his move this time pulling her back roughly against him until her curves and by the gods despite her muscular frame, she had them, molded against him and he kissed her again. Until she ran her hands down his body, gripped his arse hard and ground herself against him.  
She was not the sort of woman who would benefit from a silver tongue – not with words – though he was more than willing to use it elsewhere on her body. More than willing.  
His own hands – a little less calloused than hers – ran over her body as they kissed and bit – lips, ears, necks.  
He hauled her up until she wrapped around him, placing her lips on his shoulder.  
And bit him.  
Hard.  
He groaned and walked them to the bunk. If it had been bigger, wider and not a bunk against the wall he’d have thrown her on it crawled up her body and mounted her. But he suspected she wasn’t the sort of woman who would take kindly to being on the bottom – no this was a woman who liked to be in charge and he was happy with that – to a point.  
And he was coming to a point.  
Painfully to a point.  
With everything he’d gone through – he needed this – the release.  
He lowered her to the cot as gently as you could with a hellcat clawing and biting at and you. She felt her back on the bunk and then surprised him, scooting up, letting her legs fall open, beckoning him.  
He wondered if his reputation had preceded him.  
He was a damned fine lover.  
Attentive.  
And she was letting him.  
It surprised him.  
Gave him power.  
Made him harder when he hadn’t thought it possible.  
And so, he pleasured her in the way a lover does, using his tongue and his fingers. She rode them, grabbed his hair – painfully urging him, gripping him with her thighs, growling words that were dirty, direct and a total fucking turn on until he did what no man on the battlefield would ever do – turned her to jelly, made her buck with need, made her arch from the bed and shake, gripping his long clever fingers in a death grip. He rode out her orgasm until she grabbed him by the ears and dragged him up her body wrapping her legs around him and kicking his arse as he pushed forward, in and up until he was enveloped, groaning, seated firmly in wet recesses of her.  
Bucking,  
Rutting into her.  
And she let him.  
Let him fuck her from above.  
Until she didn’t.  
Flipping them.  
Landing them on the cold floor.  
His back against the steel.  
He didn’t care.  
She was magnificent, and this might not happen again.  
She was poetry in motion.  
Poetry with him inside.  
She rode him hard and he let her.  
His back was scratched to pieces and now so was hers, but it didn’t matter.  
It was all part of the fight.  
The battle that was lust and sex.  
He watched her bounce on him, growl on him and he used those clever fingers because it was all too much. Too erotic.  
Too much.  
Much too much.  
She exploded – loudly too loudly on a cramped ship.  
He tried to remember who was in the next cabin, thanking the stars it wasn’t Thor because this wasn’t about Thor, this wasn’t the competition of their youth, this wasn’t coveting what was Thor’s because she wasn’t - even if she chose to sleep with his brother (the word brother still felt strange yet oddly right and comforting).  
No, she would never be Thors.  
Valkyrie would never be anyone’s but her own.  
She would never scream anyone’s name as she came – she didn’t’ scream his now instead it was a battle cry a call to arms as he grunted his own release inelegantly.  
But he didn’t care.  
No one won this battle.  
But not one lost either.  
By god certainly not him.  
Not even when she swung her leg off him and stood.  
Towering above him as he lay prostrate on the floor – admiring the view -the power.  
She waved her hand.  
He took the hint and returned her clothes.  
“Loki,” she intoned tipping her head as she walked to the door like they’d just met in the corridor.  
His own clothes returned.  
“Valkyrie,” he said impersonally.  
“I shall be back for more after I’ve had a drink.”  
“I won’t be waiting,” he snarked contemplating if he’d even be on the ship next time she came knocking but knowing he probably would.  
Yes.  
They were still broken.  
But they weren’t destroyed.  
They were still standing.  
They had survived Ragnarok and each other and they knew now that they could survive anything.


	2. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor knows something his brother and friend don't know!  
> And he's not telling!!

Thor – King of Asgard sat in his throne looking out over his people - not down – no he’d never look down on them, they were his and he was theirs all part of a one, a whole. His throne, one he’d taken to reluctantly was not the golden, glorious, ornately carved piece of furniture that his father had occupied. This was more humble, more him. It had reminded him of the chair that Captain Kirk had commanded the Enterprise from in one of the movies Stark had been addicted to watching when he was last on Midgard – on Earth.  
So, he wasn’t an Odin clone. No, he was Kirk and he and his people were boldly going not where Aesir had never been before, but somewhere familiar, somewhere as close to home as there could be now.  
He tried not to think of who was not there, who wouldn’t be making this journey – had already travelled on to Valhalla – if he thought about it then he would feel lost, be lost. He had lost so much – mother, father, the warriors three – a millennia or two of history of artifacts – but then they all had and, yet they all still had each other.  
Asgard lived while it’s people lived and he, Heimdall, Valkyrie, the Hulk and Korg had their backs.  
And Loki.  
How could he forget Loki?  
Thor had his brother back.  
But not the one he had lost.  
This new Loki was broken, tired, wary.  
But then he wasn’t the old brash Thor.  
Neither were the boys they had been.  
Both were men.  
Both were damaged.  
Changed.  
He looked to the side and there he was. There was his brother – the only one he had (please god – let him be the only one, he didn’t need any more little surprises like Hela!). Back at his side.  
He looked broken, but he was still here.  
Would he stay?  
He hoped so.  
But you could never tell with Loki, never.  
And then there was Valkyrie.  
Now there had been a surprise.  
His mother had been a Valkyrie and she’d often thought she was the last, though she never talked about it – about why, where they were. She didn’t have to now – her secret was out; the secret was out. And it turned out she wasn’t the last, no the last was standing beside him. His own consort? Or a friend?  
He liked her, liked her a lot.  
But there was no spark.  
He’d want to change her, he knew that, want her to stop drinking, want her to be a little less erratic like he wanted to change Loki, but he knew if either of them changed it would have to come from within – he wasn’t that naïve anymore. He couldn’t make it all better – no it wasn’t all about him.  
But she was beautiful, tough and uncompromising. She was tougher than him and smarter too smart.  
He wished there’d been a spark but there was none.  
Well he thought there had been.  
Until he’d seen the truth.  
He did that now.  
He noticed things.  
He and Val had affection, she stood beside him as an ally – she would make a great leader for all Asgard, a princess for the new realm. But not his consort.  
There was no spark.  
Not really.  
Not like she’d seen between her and his brother.  
They wanted to kill each other half the time and the other half………….  
Val had fresh scratches and bruises on her arms and Loki had a rather angry cut across his face. It wasn’t healthy, but it was them. And Thor wasn’t blind. Well not totally – having one eye seemed to focus him more – maybe that was Odin’s secret?  
No there was no spark between him and Valkyrie but Loki and Val – every time they were in the room together the temperature rose, it wasn’t just a spark, it was almost like Surtur himself had entered the building.  
No Thor wasn’t stupid, he knew more than his smart, smart-arsed younger brother and the toughest warrior he’d ever-known. He knew more than the all-seeing Heimdall and the Incredible Hulk – or Banner himself.  
He’d told Heimdall as much as earlier in the day as they watched Korg’s new “Rockband” - fitting if not off-key entertainment for the people of Asgard on their new home hurtling through space.  
They’d watched Loki and Valkyrie slip away from the crowd. Not giggling like young lovers but angry as polecats.  
“That can only end badly!” Heimdall had sighed gesturing towards the retreating backs of the pair and Thor had laughed.  
“You’d think so wouldn’t you?” he’d said.  
“But I don’t think it will – I don’t think it will go the way either of them expect,” Thor chuckled.  
Heimdall raised an eyebrow, his all-seeing eye flashing.  
“What do you know and why don’t I know it?” he asked curiously.  
Thor chuckled.  
“Do you know her name?” he asked.  
“Valkyrie’s?”  
“Her real name?” he smiled.  
And for once the man with the glowing golden eyes shook his head.  
Thor’s grin grew larger.  
“The stories I read on Midgard called her Brunhilde but it’s not, I asked – we were drunk in the mess hall and she told me.”  
Heimdall’s eyebrow had raised again.  
“You read tomes?” he asked amazed.  
Thor looked hurt and then fessed up, sighing.  
“The ones with all the pictures – the ones that Midgardians call comics,” he said sheepishly.  
Heimdall laughed then.  
“Ah yes – getting reviews of your performances?” he teased.  
Thor scowled.  
“Do you want to know?”  
Heimdall nodded still giggling to himself.  
“I didn’t only read comics – I read some of the Norse legends about us – okay I “googled” them,” he admitted when Heimdall had looked skeptical again. The big god laughed.  
“And?”  
“Loki had a wife!”  
Thor sighed, Loki had a wife and so did he and he knew his “wife” still lived. She knew Loki better than anyone, he’d loved her forever and though she’d had a dalliance with him, it had never really worked. Maybe that’s what he thought this was with Valkyrie? Thor laughed to himself.  
“Poor deluded fool,” he thought to himself. No Loki had sent Sif off to Midgard on a mission – she was safe, he’d admitted as much and Heimdall had reiterated it. Knew where she was and had left her there – kept his younger sister safe from what was happening on Asgard, what HAD happened on Asgard.  
No Sif was Thor’s destiny, he’d kind of always known it though he’d fought hard against it.  
But now he knew.  
Now she was safe on Midgard he knew.  
It was why, really, he’d chosen the planet above all others.  
His destiny was secure.  
And so was Loki’s.  
But he had no idea.  
“Her name is Sigyn!” Heimdall guessed.  
Thor nodded.  
“Yes – and I’ve read the texts – The Midgardians Ship those two like nobody’s business!” he laughed.  
“And you know?”  
“So do I!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sigh I can't leave this alone!!


End file.
